


Perfectly Good At It

by HipHopAnonymous



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Play if you squint, Anal Fingering, BDSM, Caning, Corporal Punishment, D/s, Dirty Talk, Discipline, Dominance, Hand Jobs, M/M, Over the Knee, Punishment, Slight Verbal Humiliation, Spanking, Submission, erotic spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 05:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HipHopAnonymous/pseuds/HipHopAnonymous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is bored and looking for attention. He gets more than he bargained for since John is in no mood for manipulative games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock was _bored._ He kept trying to start some sort of halfway intelligent conversation with John, but would sigh in frustration when his brilliant observations were met with nothing more than an _mmhmm_ or a distracted _oh yeah?_ John wasn’t even really _doing_ anything. Sure, he was shuffling through a stack of papers on the coffee table – paying bills or balancing his cheque book or something equally mindless – but he should have been able to carry on a conversation at the same time. Surely. As far as normal people went, John was really quite bright. Sherlock only wanted some _attention_ , damn it, and John just wasn’t giving it.

Sherlock would need to pull out all the stops, then. He got up from his chair and slunk over to the sofa where John was sitting engrossed in the boring paperwork. He plopped down right next to John and laid his head on John’s shoulder.

“I’m bored,” he said again for probably the thirtieth time that hour.

John grimaced and sighed. “Sherlock, I told you I’m busy. There’s been some kind of mix up with our utilities and the bank … damn newfangled automatic billing … but I need to figure out … oh, bloody hell, where did that one sheet go …” he trailed off, flipping through the papers frantically, searching for a missing document.

Sherlock’s eyes skimmed over the table and saw what John was _obviously_ looking for. He grabbed the paper and waved it in front of John’s face.

“Looking for this?”

“Ah, yes, thank you …”

Sherlock yanked the paper away just as John was reaching for it. John frowned.

“Sherlock, I’m in no mood for games right now. Give it here. Now.”

The tone he used was very close to John’s “dominating” voice. Sherlock was pretty sure it wasn’t intentional, but it sent a shiver down his spine. Now he was getting somewhere. He stood up, dangling the paper above John’s head.

“No,” he said, grinning down at John’s annoyed face. “I think it’s time you had a break.”

“I’m not messing around, Sherlock. This is _important_. I’m at my wit’s end with this mess. And you’re partly to blame, you know. Ever heard of filing paperwork? Or perhaps not just tossing the mail all willy nilly around the apartment, hm?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and then danced away with the paper as John jumped up trying to make a grab for it.

“Sherlock! Give me that paper right this instant _or else._ ”

John was most definitely using his dominating voice on purpose now, and Sherlock’s eyes dilated with arousal. “Or else what?” he taunted, somehow sounding both innocent and bratty at once.

John crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “You _know_ what.” 

His no-nonsense tone made Sherlock’s stomach twist in anticipation. _Yes!_ he thought, filled with glee that he finally had John’s undivided attention. He tried to hide his excitement, but he could feel the grin pulling at the corners of his lips. He quickly cast his eyes downward and away from John’s intense stare and shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Oh, well, I don’t know, John. I assume you’re too _busy_ for all that …” he was pushing it, he knew, but he needed the attention, the distraction from boredom and idleness _so badly._

John raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat. He stared at Sherlock with a menacing gaze. “I’d suggest you be careful now. Are you looking for a spanking, Sherlock?”

The detective’s face flushed and his heart began to flutter in his chest. _Yes, yes, yes! Finally!_ He had already won, so he went all out and snorted derisively. “Well, surely you can't possibly spare the _time_ for something like that." He crossed his arms and gave the papers on the coffee table a pointed look. "Honestly, John, the water company accidentally withdrew payment twice, obviously. The extra money you think is missing from the account was from that midnight Chinese food run we made a week and a half ago after I solved that simple movie theatre case.”

John faltered, looking distracted. He quickly began to shuffle through the paperwork again, and relief flooded his face. “Of course!”

Sherlock couldn’t help but smile smugly. John looked up at him, and Sherlock’s smile vanished at John’s furious expression. “If you knew,” he began, his voice low and dangerous, “Why didn’t you tell me, damn it?!”

“I-I … I thought you would figure it out rather quickly, actually, but … I just didn’t think about it, I suppose.” He trailed off and looked down, shuffling his feet.

“Right, of course. You were too damn busy thinking about what _you_ wanted, weren’t you?” Sherlock swallowed hard, beginning to feel nervous. John actually sounded really angry now, but he knew it was already too late to backtrack. Besides, everything about John’s demeanor was sending vibrations of pleasure coursing through Sherlock’s body. “Do you want a spanking, Sherlock? Is that what you’re after?”

Sherlock’s face flushed in embarrassment. “W-well ... maybe. Y-yes,” he admitted.

John raised his eyebrows. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s what I thought.” Sherlock’s heart pounded in excitement as John walked slowly towards him. John gripped Sherlock’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Ask me for it, then."

Sherlock swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. "P-please, John, sir. Will you ... will you give me a spanking?" His face blazed with embarrassment. John smirked.

“All right, then, Sherlock. You're going to be punished for being such an insufferable little brat.”

_Yes!_ Sherlock was buzzing with anticipation. John released his chin and walked to the umbrella stand near the door. He pulled the cane out and it whistled as he gave it a sweeping test swing through the air. Then he used it to point down the hallway.

“Ok, Sherlock. Let’s go to your room.”

_No!_ Sherlock’s heart sank. The cane was _not_ the same as a spanking. Not at all. The cane was awful. It stung badly. He hated it. “Wait, John – wait … no … please, no …” 

“Stop whining this instant, Sherlock. You know better. You don’t get to choose your punishment, now do you?” Sherlock pouted a little, but shook his head. “I’m going to teach you not to manipulate me. If you want something you need to ask instead of misbehaving on purpose. You also really need to learn some patience, you know. I can’t always just stop what I’m doing to give you what you want at a moment’s notice.”

Sherlock shifted in obvious discomfort throughout John’s lecture, alternating between balling his hands into nervous fists and stretching his fingers straight. “I’m sorry, John – sir,” he murmured when he was sure John was finished with the verbal chastisement.

“Good,” John gave a curt nod. “But you’re still going to be punished. Now march yourself into your room this instant.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Sherlock bowed his head and scurried off towards his messy bedroom with John following close behind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Also, there's going to be more ... ran out of steam, but wanted to get this next part up.
> 
> Switched to John's point of view for this chapter just for fun and to change it up!

John watched as Sherlock stood next to his bed, fidgeting nervously. It was adorable, really. He loved how childish the detective behaved when facing discipline. John wanted to grin, but he steeled himself, determined to maintain the stoic role of strict disciplinarian – at least until he was finished lighting fire to Sherlock’s cute little bottom.

He used the cane as a pointer, waving it up and down below Sherlock’s waist. “Take those down,” he referred obviously to the detective’s pajama bottoms. He was glad Sherlock hadn’t yet changed out of his sleepwear that morning. It somehow made things all the more delicious. “Pants, too,” John reminded him.

John nearly broke character with a chuckle when Sherlock _pouted_ at him. His bottom lip stuck out, quivering a bit, and he pleaded with his eyes. Sherlock knew better than to beg out loud at this point in the punishment game, but he always went all out with his pitiful facial expressions, as though John were the meanest, most unreasonable brute in the entire world.

Truthfully, he _did_ feel a bit wicked for turning things around on Sherlock with his selection of the cane, but the detective had been a right old pain in the arse all morning. Not to mention his blatant disregard for John’s stress levels, as evidenced by the withholding of vital information and deductions relevant to the mix-up with the bills. Well, John would simply work out a bit of stress release on Sherlock’s bare bum. And though the detective may protest and pout now, John knew that he would enjoy himself in the end.

John raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat. Sherlock huffed a bit before hooking his thumbs into the waistbands of his bottoms and pants and every so slowly pushed them down over his hips. He kept a firm grip and held them up just below the crease beneath his pale, white bottom, clearly not quite ready to lose them entirely. Ah, well, no matter. The fabric would be tangled around Sherlock’s ankles soon enough once he began to feel the sting of the cane.

John pointed said cane at the bed. “Bend over.” Sherlock complied, and John could swear he heard a little sniffle. John gave his eyes a little roll. Oh, the dramatics. “Elbows on the bed. Get your bottom up in the air.”

Sherlock was forced to release his hold on his clothing to obey, and the pajama bottoms slipped down over his slender legs and pooled over his feet. The overpriced, silky red boxer-briefs remained tucked under his cheeks until he bent forward, and then they slid to his knees. Now that Sherlock’s backside was to John, he permitted himself an appreciative little smile as Sherlock scooted forward, adjusting himself into the familiar position.

John walked up behind Sherlock, and the detective visibly tensed, his breath quickening in anticipation. The doctor set the cane down on the bed purposely in Sherlock’s peripheral vision and the muscles in his back relaxed slightly. John ran his hands gently up and down the detective’s trembling back before bending over and burying his face in the soft, dark curls. Sherlock arched his back and practically purred.

“What’s your safeword, naughty boy?” he breathed against the back of Sherlock’s neck.

“Violin, sir,” Sherlock murmured, his ears turning red in nervous embarrassment.

“Good boy,” John nuzzled his cheek against the side of Sherlock’s head and planted a quick, wet kiss on his temple before standing up.

Sherlock shivered at the absence, but relaxed again when John laid his left hand on the detective’s lower back. John picked up the cane with his right, giving Sherlock a reassuring pat.

“Four, I think,” John said, back to his no-nonsense, no-negotiation voice. Sherlock whimpered softly.

John took aim, lightly tapping the cane against Sherlock’s bottom before drawing it back and snapping it down with a flick of his wrist. The crack was loud, and Sherlock gasped and whispered _ow ow ow_ as he bent his knees, twisting in agony at the sharp sting. A thin pink line was forming across his cheeks where the cane had struck him. John wanted more than anything to run his thumb across the fresh welt, but it would do better to wait until the punishment was over.

“That was one,” he announced in a stern voice.

Sherlock stopped wriggling and returned to his original position. John’s heart swelled with pride.

He brought the cane down a second time, aiming just below the first stripe. Sherlock yelped and hissed, bucking forward and bouncing up on his toes. As predicted, the movement caused Sherlock’s pants to slip the rest of the way down his legs to join the pajama bottoms now twisting around his ankles. Sherlock didn’t even seem to notice, and John patiently waited out Sherlock’s “sting dance.” He was pleased again when Sherlock got back into position on his own.

“That was two.”

John gave Sherlock’s back a rub and tapped the cane gently against his bottom again. He made the third stroke harder, letting out a bit more of his frustration at Sherlock’s earlier misbehavior. The detective shouted and fell forward onto the bed, reaching back and grabbing his bottom and writhing.

“John, please …” he whined. “That’s enough, please. I’ll be good!”

The doctor would have none of that. He knew Sherlock could take much more, and he only had one more to go.

“Sherlock!” he barked, activating full-on military mode. “You get your hands off your bottom and get back up in position this instant!”

Sherlock groaned in frustration.

“ _Now,_ Sherlock,” John’s tone left no room for negotiation. “Or else you’ll be getting extra strokes.”

Those were the magic words. Sherlock whimpered, but quickly ceased rubbing at his sore bum cheeks and pushed himself back up on his forearms, sticking his bottom, now decorated with three angry looking red stripes, back into the air.

“I’m sorry, John – sir,” he said in a small voice, just a bit thick and wet with the threat of tears

“One more,” John said, letting a bit of warmth seep into his dominating voice.

Not wanting to belabor the moment, John raised the cane high and brought it down sharply against Sherlock’s quivering behind. Sherlock hissed and bent his knees, but stayed relatively still, considering how much that last stroke must have stung his bare bottom. He sniffed back tears, and John just knew he was biting his lip in that cute way he always did.

John took a moment to admire his work. He rubbed his hand gently over Sherlock’s bottom, feeling the four slightly raised lines the cane had made. He slipped his hand between Sherlock’s legs, cupping his balls and then wrapping his fingers lightly around Sherlock’s cock. John smiled. Sherlock may have hated the cane, but, if his twitching, half-hard cock was any indication, a part of him had loved it. Sherlock kicked the tangled bottoms off of his ankles and spread his legs, allowing John easier access. He moaned and thrust into John’s fist.

John gave him a tight squeeze before releasing his hold. Sherlock whined in protest. John sat down on the edge of the bed and tugged Sherlock over his lap. The detective’s face betrayed his confusion and a hint of worry.

“W-what are you doing? ... Sir?” 

“Giving you your spanking, Sherlock.” John's voice was matter-of-fact.

“B-but I’ve already had it!”

“No, Sherlock, the caning was your punishment. You haven’t had your spanking yet. You did ask for it, after all, didn’t you?”

Sherlock was stuck. “Y-yes … but …” he squirmed over John’s lap, and John grinned at the sight. The feeling of Sherlock’s hard cock pressed against his thigh assured him that the detective’s protests were not entirely heartfelt.

“No ‘butts’ … except for this cute little one,” John slapped his hand against the middle of Sherlock’s already sore behind. Sherlock yipped and jerked slightly at the sting of the sharp spank overtop his cane stripes. “You asked for it, and now you're going to get it.”

"Y-yes, sir."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning: this ended up quite a bit more sexually explicit than I had originally planned! Pretty much pure erotic spanking porn in this chapter!

Sherlock squirmed over John’s lap, his arse tingling from where the warning spank had landed on top of his gently throbbing cane stripes. John rubbed his hand firmly up and down the punished flesh of Sherlock’s bottom. He ran his thumb across the welts, and Sherlock winced, burying his face in the duvet.

John tsked. “Looks like it hurts,” he gave the cheeks a gentle pat. “Poor little naughty bottom. Do you want some lotion before your spanking, Sherlock?”

It was a tricky question. On the one hand, moisturizing the skin would make the spanking sting quite a bit more against the tenderized flesh. However, the gentle sweep of John’s palm was feeling very good at the moment, and a rubdown while exposed over John’s knee would serve to make Sherlock even more aroused than he already was. And the harder his cock was for the spanking, the easier it would be to take.

He thought for a moment before answering a muffled, “Yes, please.”

John chuckled, “All right, Sherlock.”

He reached across Sherlock’s back, opening the nightstand drawer and pulling out the bottle of lotion. He squirted a dollop of the cool cream on each of Sherlock’s naked cheeks. Sherlock twitched a bit at the sensation, but soon sighed and relaxed. John worked the lotion into Sherlock’s skin with gentle fingers, taking care to press softly against the sore, swollen stripes. John always used his hands with an ease and confidence that clearly reflected his medical training. It was also so intensely intimate and erotic that Sherlock's cock was soon completely hard against the doctor's thigh. Sherlock unconsciously began to rock his hips to increase the friction, his breath quickening to short, ragged bursts.

Too soon, John cleared his throat, “Ok, Sherlock. Scoot forward, now.” John pressed gently against the detective’s bottom to urge him and Sherlock wriggled forward until his erection and balls hung free and heavy between John’s knees. His bottom was tipped up as it rested over John’s thigh, presenting an easy target for chastisement. His pajama shirt was rucked up well out of the way around his chest.

John gave his bum a pat and then laid his hand against both cheeks.

“Sherlock,” he began in a stern, but kind voice. “You asked for this spanking, right?”

Sherlock groaned and replied with a mumbled, “Yes.”

John gave the lower curve of his right buttock a sharp pinch and Sherlock winced. “What was that again?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Better. This isn’t punishment, Sherlock,” he smirked, “Well, not _really_. You _did_ ask for this, so I expect you to be reasonably well-behaved while you take what I’m going to give you. Don’t forget that I have your bare bottom across my knee, and the hairbrush is just right there in the nightstand drawer.”

“John …” Sherlock began to whine.

“Hush,” John ran the fingers of his left hand through Sherlock’s dark, curly hair. “Be a good boy, and I won’t need it.”

Without further ado, John raised his right hand and brought it down with a crisp SMACK against Sherlock’s bottom. It was followed almost immediately by a second, and a third, the sharp sounds of skin on skin echoing loudly in the small room. John quickly found his rhythm and Sherlock just as quickly found out how much a spanking on top of freshly lotioned cane welts smarted. 

John had quite a bit of practice taking Sherlock over his knee, and it showed. His expertise was demonstrated by what Sherlock considered to be a mean and wicked method of spanking. John focused most of his attention on the fleshier curve of Sherlock’s lower bottom, but he made sure not to neglect the center of his cheeks and, much to Sherlock’s chagrin, the tippy tops of his thighs, as well. John often alternated sides, but would sometimes strike the same spot rapidly again and again, building up an intense sting before moving to a different target. Sherlock gripped the duvet in his fists and gritted his teeth, grimacing at the increasing burn in his backside.

Although Sherlock was slim with slender hips, once bared, his bottom was revealed to be fuller than expected with just enough chubby flesh on his cheeks to jiggle with each spank. His pale flesh reddened quickly under John’s punishing hand, which John kept stiff and flat as he struck the sensitive skin. As the burning fire in Sherlock’s bottom grew, he began to writhe and buck, twisting his hips in an attempt to avoid John’s relentless hand.

John paused and gave Sherlock’s glowing red cheeks a firm rub. “Sherlock? What did I tell you about behaving? Keep still!”

“I-I can’t, John … it hurts! I can’t!”

“Since you can’t seem keep still on your own, I’ll just have to keep hold of your ‘handle’ to help you, won’t I?”

Sherlock blushed and whimpered into the duvet. John smiled. “Unless you’d rather I get the hairbrush?”

“N-no, please, John! I’d rather you – I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Very well, Sherlock. There’s no need to pretend you don’t want me to touch your cock, you dirty little boy. I can feel it hard between my legs. You like being spanked over my knee like a naughty child, don’t you?”

Sherlock could only make a strangled moan in response. John hooked his left arm around Sherlock’s waist and reached between his legs, securely gripping Sherlock’s cock and bollocks. Sherlock moaned again and squeezed his bottom in an attempt to thrust his hard length further into John’s hand. However, his movement was now severely limited. John’s position, with his arm wrapped around Sherlock’s body and his hold on the sensitive bits, would force Sherlock to keep relatively still during the remainder of his spanking.

John lifted his hand. “There we are. My, Sherlock, you _are_ hard.” John gave Sherlock’s cock a stroke with his thumb, swiping gently over the tip. “And so wet already. Be a good boy for me while I finish spanking you, and I'll give you a treat when we're finished.” He gave Sherlock a suggestive little squeeze and the detective made a low, appreciate grunt.

John began again, resuming his prior rhythm and technique against Sherlock’s arse. Unable to buck and squirm, Sherlock began to respond vocally with a mixture of yelps of pain and moans of pleasure. It was an exercise in extreme frustration as John kept the hand wrapped around Sherlock’s cock maddeningly still while the other seemed to rain spanks down endlessly. No matter how much he wanted to squirm and thrust, Sherlock was only allowed the smallest of movements. These small squirms resulted in nowhere near enough pressure around his cock, and all too much against his burning bottom as it was impossible to move away from John’s relentless hand. What felt to Sherlock like ages later, John finally stopped spanking.

John released his grip on Sherlock’s bits and Sherlock heard the unmistakable sound the lotion being squeezed out of its bottle. He gasped as John applied the cool cream directly to the cleft between his buttocks. John worked the lotion up and down Sherlock’s crack before pressing a finger inside him. Sherlock’s breath caught and he instinctively squeezed his bottom and pushed his hips forward.

“What a tight little hole,” John said, moving his finger in slow, teasing circles. He reached his left arm around Sherlock again and took the detective’s impossibly hard cock in his hand, stroking with a slowness that complimented the motion of his finger.

Sherlock panted and moaned, coming completely undone under John’s talented hands. His arse was nice and hot, and the air in the room was deliciously cool on the bare skin. The throbbing heat of his bottom radiated straight to his groin, making his cock ache and drip with need. John’s hands moved with tormenting slowness, and Sherlock needed more – more pressure, more speed. He needed release. Good Lord but John loved to tease.

“Do you want more, Sherlock? Another finger, perhaps?”

Sherlock sighed in frustration. “Obviously! Get on with it, why don't you?!”

John immediately withdrew his finger and brought down a barrage of full force punishment spanks. “Rude, demanding boys don’t get rewards! They get punished! Do you _want_ the hairbrush?”

Sherlock instantly regretted his words and crumbled under the threat. “No, please, please! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, John. Please stop!”

“It’s too late for that, young man,” John said. He gripped Sherlock’s cock tightly in his left hand and began to stroke hard and fast while still peppering Sherlock’s bottom with spanks. “You’re just going to have to get off with me spanking your naughty bum instead of fingering your little hole. You deserve to come knowing you’re across my knee getting your BARE. BOTTOM. SPANKED.” 

Each of the final words was emphasized by a tremendously hard smack. On the last, Sherlock came, shuddering and gasping and squeezing his buttocks as he shot wet ribbons onto John’s leg and all over the floor. John milked out the end of Sherlock's orgasm while rubbing slow circles over his sore arse. Sherlock mumbled incoherently, his body thrumming with waves of pleasure. His mind blissfully empty and at peace.

John patted his back. “You all right?”

There was a moment of silence while Sherlock's breathing slowed before he answered. “Y-yes,” he slurred. “Thank you, John. Thank you.”

John smiled and gave Sherlock’s shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Such a good boy. _My_ good boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had thought about an aftercare / John gets "his" epilogue, but I think I'll just wait and post an entirely new story at some point. Sherlock and his attitude are just begging for that hairbrush, right? ;)


End file.
